


An Unfortunate Gift

by TNTMech (AlexAnaheim)



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bad Touch, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Kamuis, M/M, Molestation, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6980893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexAnaheim/pseuds/TNTMech
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron had spent decades away from Cybertron, fading slowly from memory and becoming nothing more than a distant nightmare for those who knew them. But he was searching in his exile, waiting, following the call towards what he needed to create the Cybertron he always wanted.<br/>...unfortunately, that turns out to be the spirit of Unicron trapped inside a stripper uniform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unfortunate Gift

**Author's Note:**

> So a friend of mine, NitroStation, had a KLK/Transformers fusion AU that I fell in love with. And I asked her if I could use it as inspiration for this fic.  
> She's gonna regret giving me permission.

The last sparks to see Megatron, to bear witness to his miraculous redemption before his exile, had long since forgotten about him. And that suited him. As he flitted between outposts and barren stations, taking whatever he could on his way to the edge of the universe as fast as his thrusters would allow; no one recognised him. Bots with rust-addled Decepticon badges might have glanced at him, eyed the spiked pauldrons holding up the weight of his ragged robe, the red optics over the rim of his energon cube, the carved spires of his denta scraping over his scars; but there were so many rumours about him they didn't know which ones to believe. So they ignored him, and he left them behind. He needed more than an army to win the next war. Because there _would_ be one, never mind the nonsense about all lifeforms deserving freedom when he knew from history, from the depths of his spark, that freedom led only to extinction. 

Lies fell so easily from his glossa that day, perhaps some of Unicron’s influence still lingering in his processor, but all that mattered was him escaping the lost battlefield with what was left of his dignity.   
And it was only later, overhearing a drunken debate between two Autobots, that he heard of Optimus Prime's demise. Megatron's mortal enemy lay deceased at last, yet he was still the loser. 

So of course another war was necessary. A grand funeral for Cybertron, for every Autobot who somehow scraped through his last genocide. And he had the perfect weapon to win it. 

He felt it like a thrumming magnet in his spark, a pull from the stars themselves even when they faded from sight. Aimless wandering gave way to a determined course forwards, somewhere where the beacon lay and kept calling, ceaseless and loud and beckoning even when he tried to recharge. Even if his chronometer still worked, he wouldn’t have known how long he spent flying, drifting in the endless dark with only the stars, the siren call and his own gnawing need to be better, to conquer, as his company.

And when he reached it, with the echoing thrum now consuming his spark, he’d grown so used to the haunting rhythm that he almost skipped over it entirely. But it was there waiting for him, a bland chunk of rock barely bigger than a moon floating there in the universe’s ink, free of orbit and all of space’s control. It was so easy to overlook, so removed from any nearby neighbourhood that there was no more perfect place to hide something, that something catching the ancient light of faded stars the closer Megatron flew. And when he landed and the dust cleared over the metal plates, the weak glow bleeding over them like Dark Energon embedded into the panels, he knew this was what had been beckoning him. 

“Yes...yes! After all these years… searching and waiting…” His vocaliser was hushed like a scholar, lest his voice disturb the spirits that rested in the smooth foreign metal gripped in his trembling claws. The dust fell off in slews, trickling out of the intricate engravings and symbols that he could only guess meaning from. And all around it the glow burned through the dirt and grime, searing his optics as they went wider to match his grin. This was a relic, a gift from the Thirteen for his patience, and he recognised the individual pieces as armour just before it came alive.

Something swallowed him, literally; jagged teeth tearing his robe and the plates underneath to shreds, with the beast absorbing each screeching ribbon as it spread itself over his body like an immense parasite. Everywhere he looked he saw only a void, and his own frame being torn apart and remade. His chest swelled, the spark within aching to burst out, and the giant muscles on his servos groaned as they pushed against the tight covering over them; so much like fabric yet built like steel, utterly resistant to his shock and struggles. But most disturbing of all was the sudden chill near his thighs, the most sensitive plates ripped aside to be replaced by this new, perverse kind of living armour. He panted, grunted, snarled at the violet threads throwing themselves out of him as they stitched together something far too small to take the place of his codpiece, lacing themselves between his aft. When it was over, he was on his knees with his bulging chest forced into a harness and his spike straining against what could only be described in any species’ language as a thong, even with the immodest fanged skirt fanning out over it.

“What the… what the frag?!” Megatron flitted claws all over his revealed protoform, coolant soaking the skin with his faceplate boiling from energon rushing behind it. He was still trying to process it all when a dull roar filled his audios, and a voice he hoped to never hear again spoke loud.

_“I awaken…”_ Megatron was frozen, not from shock or fear but simply from something else forcing his cables so stiff he couldn't force them to move. All he could do was grimace and growl as he felt the probing touch of a demon against his frame as if he wasn't violated enough already, and it was much more aggressive than so long ago. Yet when his spark was wrapped in the ghostly claws the whole act was instantly abandoned in favour of disappointment.

_“Oh, for- are you serious? Of all the bots to carry my mighty spark, once again I am forced together with_ you?!” Unicron didn't sound any happier than Megatron felt for their reunion, and the warlord snapped himself upright before the god could grab onto him again, casting blazing optics about for anything that resembled a weapon. 

“Unicron… where are you?!” Megatron put it forth as a challenge, but he had too many questions to let one of them stand alone. “What is… why am I practically naked?!”

Unicron, whose infernal voice seemed to come out of the humiliating garment itself, seemed to laugh at him. The sound rumbled against Megatron's protoform, vibrating in very particular places that had him grinding his denta into even sharper spires. _“Obviously you know nothing of the true nature of what you've been seeking so long for,”_ Unicron mused as Megatron tried and failed to pull the perverted armour off, yanking at the straps over his chest that lead down from the harness holding his huge pectorals together but only making his naked muscles stand out even more. 

_“If it wasn't already obvious, this armour set was intended for a femme, the beacon set specifically for her_ ,” Unicron continued, and while Megatron was distracted by the implications of femme armour taut over a mech frame he decided to resume his phantom touches. _“But… you fit it rather well.”_

And it didn’t take long for Megatron to notice when the armour, the cruel joke, whatever it was supposed to be, started shrinking. The chestplate covers, the laughable codpiece and the strange panels like engorged optics framing it both growing even smaller while his aft experienced the most pain of all- that of a wedgie as the thong pulled itself up between his bare aft cheeks. He yelped, winced, groaned and even moaned ever so slightly, while Unicron lapped up every somber hum of his vocaliser with his own low growls as the counterpoint.

_“Mmm, yes, this is a much more intimate way of controlling you… I could get used to this.”_ Invisible talons ran against Megatron's protoform, sliding under the flimsy straps and sheets of soft steel and pulling some aside to circle the deep dents of his heaving muscles. Even without his spike cramped and barely contained now, Megatron couldn't move without a node being twisted here, a cluster of them stroked, as Unicron managed to molest him without even having to be nearby. And it was so unfamiliar, so different from having the god steal his mind and so much more easier to take, that he almost forgot himself within the budding arousal starting to plague him, swelling his spike as it endured stubborn rubs and taunting massages, bulging from the very edges of the thong stretched to its limits. 

But he was Megatron. He was the leader of the Decepticons, and he did not give in. Not to gods or physics or even his own desires. Though he struggled past reluctant moans, he managed to speak.

“I will only say this once. Remove your wretched presence from my frame immediately or I will-”

His warning went unfinished as a crackle of fire erupted against his spark, mirroring the tortuous squeeze of pressure on his spike as Unicron clenched, making the whole armour contract like a heartbeat around him. _“I do not think you are in any position to be making threats, boy.”_ Fitting that Megatron's actual position was on his knees again, claws cutting into his palms as he slammed fists into the dust and his hips fell out of his control, thrusting into thin air in a desperate need to ease the ache. The warlord only snarled, feral with anger and all that came with it as Unicron went on unperturbed. _“You wanted power, didn't you? You wanted protection forged from a god, another alliance with beings older, wiser than you could even contemplate?”_

Despite the pounding ache wrecking his frame, Megatron only had to remember his dreams of standing over Cybertron, every living spark bowing to him, for Unicron to take his answer. _“Exactly. Once again, I can give it to you. All thanks to this, my kamui now pulled over every inch of your body.”_

“K...Kamui?” The sound was stranger than anything else on Megatron’s glossa, stuttered as warm relief flooded his circuits with Unicron releasing his hold, letting the armour swell out again to accommodate its host’s shaking frame. 

_“Its name is all you need to know for now_ ,” the god informed him, urging Megatron to stand up and wipe the energon from his denta and re-opened scars, discouraging him from noticing how hard his spike still was in its teasing hammock. _“Now do as I say, boy, else I promise I can make it feel much more uncomfortable for you.”_

With the heady, lingering rush of Unicron’s attention now accompanied with his first taste of what the kamui was capable of, the Life Fibers taking their turn in the spotlight and seeping through, Megatron could do little else but agree.


End file.
